


Till Durin Wakes Again From Sleep

by lindoreda



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Canonical Character Death, M/M, One Shot, ambiguous but happy ending, references to death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 18:35:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1315072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindoreda/pseuds/lindoreda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Farewell, King Under the Mountain.”</p>
<p>Then there was nothing, for a long, long time. Silence and darkness, and days as long as ages of the world. But he was stone, and stone is patient. Stone can wait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Till Durin Wakes Again From Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, another oneshot. And like Anachronistic, this is another example of a fic that I liked the beginning of and nothing else. The title comes from Tolkien's Song of Durin's awakening, which was honestly the inspiration for this one (well that and I used to write Kingdom Hearts fanfiction, and we've all written at least one reincarnation au). It's short, but I hope you enjoy!

“Farewell, King Under the Mountain.”

Then there was nothing, for a long, long time. Silence and darkness, and days as long as ages of the world. But he was stone, and stone is patient. Stone can wait.

So he waited, alone in the darkness, until the world was utterly changed, all traces of the old world destroyed and forgotten. He expected to be unmade then, his existence ended along with the old stone that bore his fathers, for he was bound to it like all of his kind. This world was for the Second-Born, and he was not one of them.

He was freed from the stone, left airy and formless. And still he waited, the darkness pressing in for ages more. He was still alone.

But all darkness must pass, and this darkness was no different. Light poured in, and the airiness left him, though neither was he stone as he had been of old. He had been reborn among the race of Men, in a time so far beyond the one he had known as to render the world utterly unrecognizable.

But Thorin Oakenshield was alive, and where there’s life, there’s hope. 

Something happened then that Ilúvatar did not intend. Thorin did not forget, as infants are meant to when reembodied. He remembered his life before, remembered his long wait in the silent darkness. The dwarves had always surprised Ilúvatar, as they were not of his making, but he did not make Thorin forget. They were children of his adoption, and he loved them as they were. Thorin was the first dwarf given new life, so he was left unchanged. The Durin of a new age. So Thorin Oakenshield remembered his other life.

He remembered Bilbo Baggins. He remembered regret. He remembered pain, madness, death. He remembered love.

He forgot gold.

There was no way of knowing if Bilbo Baggins had also been reborn into the world. His brother and sister returned to him, but they did not remember. They were happy, and knew peace, and that was enough.

But Thorin was still alone.

He encountered others, cousins and distant relations from another time and place. They did not remember, but they were well. Some became friends, while some remained acquaintances, or merely people seen on the street. Thorin was comforted that they too had another chance, but he was still alone.

His sister bore sons, and they were fine and familiar nephews. They did not remember, and Thorin was glad. Their deaths were still heavy on his conscience. They did not need to know his pain. And if he spoiled them a little, what were uncles for, really? He was allowed to make up in this life for pain caused in a previous one.

But, like Durin, born into the world without a mate, Thorin was still alone, and he began to fear that he would remain so. His brother yet lived, no untimely accident befalling him to confirm some unshakeable karma. His sister’s husband survived, and Thorin was without shoes to fill. He did not need to become the sole brother, and the King-Uncle-Father. He began to wonder if the lack of Bilbo was the cost of this good fortune; if the happiness of his line could be bought with Bilbo’s soul.

Not that he had a line anymore. He was Durin, and he was alone and kingdomless.

So he built his own kingdom, a company that revolutionized computing. He kept busy, and his siblings were provided for. He didn’t have to remember when he worked, so he worked constantly. After a while, he stopped looking for Bilbo, pouring his entire being into his work.

But Thorin was alone, and it was not enough.

\----

By all accounts, Bilbo Baggins lived a quiet, unremarkable life, and wanted nothing else. At least, he thought so. Sometimes, he had dreams so vivid, he woke up reaching for a sword that wasn’t there, slashing at monstrous wolves that surely didn’t exist in this world. But why would he have a sword? Why would he be fighting? Bilbo was not a fighter, even in less vivid dreams.

Too imaginative, his mother would say fondly when he was young, patting him on the head. And Bilbo learned that no matter how certain he was that the dreams were real, no one would believe him. He remembered giant eagles, the feel of mountains beneath bare feet, and as he grew older, he remembered piercing blue eyes. They followed him mournfully, like a ghost that longs to touch, but cannot. The eyes were what convinced Bilbo that the dreams were real, or at least that they meant something, but time dulled these feelings. What could the dreams possibly mean? They didn’t affect his life in any way, so why dwell on them?

So, Bilbo shoved down his discomfort, and kept quiet. Fearing the power of his imagination, he tried to turn away from books, but that only made it run wilder. So Bilbo did the logical thing: he channeled it, and became a writer. He wrote tales of daring adventure, in worlds no one had ever seen, and if some of them were inspired by things he’d seen in his dreams, he wasn’t going to deny it. ‘It came to me in a dream’ was a perfectly valid excuse for a writer.

His books did well. They were creative and imaginative, but had enough of those things that give books mass market appeal. Some even said they were cinematic, and there started to be talk about movie adaptations. Bilbo was overwhelmed. He certainly couldn’t consult on movies about his books; he would be too picky. It would all have to look like his dreams. Then again, they would ruin them without him there. It was a real quandary, and in the midst of it, he was invited on a talk show to talk about his books. Bilbo didn’t watch much television, or even follow the news really, but interviews were publicity and selling more books hardly hurt. So Bilbo accepted, thinking nothing of it really.

Then, as his manager led him to the stage, it being just about time for his segment, they passed the departing guest. On a whim, Bilbo glanced over. He wasn’t expecting to recognize the person. After all, he was dreadfully uninformed.

Piercing blue eyes met his, and time slowed down for an instant. Bilbo’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. Those were the eyes. There could be no doubt. They even had that same mournful air, as if their owner had forgotten how to look any other way. Then time resumed as usual, and they both kept walking, Bilbo not wanting to be late, and the owner of the eyes having no good reason to stop.

But Bilbo didn’t forget. In fact, when invited up for his segment, before the host could begin interviewing him properly, he asked, “Who was that who was on before me?”

The interviewer looked taken aback for a moment, but then a sly smile slid across her face. “You don’t know? That was Thorin Durinson, haven’t you heard of him? He was here to talk about his work in developing nations.”

Well that made Bilbo feel thoroughly insignificant. He had heard of the Durison Corporation before, and their charitable foundation as well, but the name had never meant anything to him. He had certainly never had a face to attach to the name. “I don’t really keep up with current events,” Bilbo admitted, a little flustered.

“Hmm? Is that a love connection I sense?” She teased, which of course only made Bilbo more flustered.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he protested. “I mean, certainly he’s very handsome- er, I mean…”

“Oh ho, the notoriously reclusive Bilbo Baggins everyone!” The interviewer was practically crowing. Maybe interviews were a bad idea. This wouldn’t possibly sell more books.

Bilbo didn’t know that Thorin was watching the interview from the green room, struggling to catch his breath. And also cursing his own stubbornness. And willful blindness. He could have found Bilbo years ago, he just hadn’t been looking in the right places.

The faintest possible hope began to bloom in him again, because though Bilbo claimed never to have seen him before, Thorin knew recognition when he saw it. Bilbo had recognized him. Bilbo remembered. Or maybe he was just attracted to him, based on how he reacted to questioning. But, Thorin realized that that was enough. He didn’t need Bilbo to remember. Maybe it was better if he didn’t. 

He knew that Bilbo was alive. He knew where to find him, and they had another chance. 

Thorin was still Durin, but he had built his kingdom and found his mate, and it was enough.


End file.
